light lanterns
by concreteskies
Summary: In which Beckett is in the hospital during the Christmas holidays and Castle sneaks into her room to decorate while she is sleeping. Set early Season 4.


AN: In order for this story to make sense we'll have to pretend that Beckett was shot in late November/ early December.

* * *

 _I look at you and see all the ways_

 _a soul can bruise, and I wish_

 _I could sink my hands into your flesh_

 _And light lanterns along your spine_

 _So you know that there's nothing_

 _But light_

 _When I see you._

 _-A thousand paper cranes, Shinji Moon_

* * *

He's been visiting every day for the past two weeks; has watched her gain strength, the ability to sit up on her own again, the color return to her face. He's grateful she allowed him to be there. He's grateful she didn't send him away like she did with Josh.

And most of all, he is grateful for this moment right now, with her sitting up in the small hospital bed, laughing at his story about Christmas shopping in New York.

It's December 18th and a soft blanket of snow has covered the entire city in white. There are still sparse snowflakes tumbling to earth, disoriented and performing a slow dance outside the window.

He usually comes in first thing in the morning, pulls the curtains back and narrates along about the lives of the people passing by.

He makes their stories end happy. Every single one.

"So Castle, any big plans for Christmas this year? Any Castle traditions?" Her voice pulls his attention back to her and he finds she is still smiling at him. This soft thing of a smile that he wants to wrap up and keep safe with all that he has. Her eyes still hold a deeply rooted fatigue all the time and there's still a gentle strain to her movements, a tremble in her hands when she reaches for something and a sigh trapped behind her lips when she sits up. But she's doing so much better now.

And she's alive.

Gloriously, screaming from the rooftops alive.

She's still here this Christmas.

He didn't lose his partner. He didn't lose the woman he loves. Even though she doesn't know that.

"Well, we usually go all out with the decorations. We have a giant tree, candy, ginger bread houses, a small Christmas town set up in the living room. Then dinner of course and," he pauses a second so he can speak into solemn silence, "presents." He widens his eyes and wiggles his eyebrows at that and she gives him a gentle laugh in return.

"So what about you then? Any interesting Beckett traditions for the holiday season?"

He watches as her eyes cloud over at that. Sees how they ghost away to the fog that has settled against the glass of the window, to the small ice crystals that sprawl across the smooth surface. It takes a few seconds before they travel back to him and she offers him a small smile.

He can tell that it takes everything she has to even speak, but she does.

"We used to decorate and my mother used to cook this huge dinner," she laughs a little at the memory. "We would eat leftovers for days. I was allowed to make the mashed potatoes and in the evening all three of us would curl up in front of the TV and watch whatever movie was on."

A breath stutters across her lips and echoes through the silence of the room. "But when she died, we just never really went back to it. It was like Christmas had died with her. So now, every Christmas I take the shift and work, because I know that there are families out there who celebrate and I like to keep watch." She shrugs a little, still caught somewhere in between her memories and reality and he takes her hand, only for a second and squeezes tightly.

* * *

He hadn't really thought about the fact that she would be spending Christmas in a hospital room until her doctor comes in the next day and informs them that she is scheduled to be released on the 28th.

She tells him it's fine. (Of course it's fine. Just like she is fine whenever he asks her how she is doing. Just how she was fine when he found her crying in the bathroom last week because she tried to go on her own and fell down and couldn't get up. Just how she was fine when he held her against his chest and ran his hands up and down her spine until she stopped trembling against him.)

So he sets a project into motion that he calls, "A Christmas for Beckett."

It's surprisingly easy to organize. And so, about 100 calls to the hospital, several arguments with nurses and a couple impulse purchases later, on the night of the 20th December he finds himself semi-breaking into her hospital tract, dragging a tree behind him and balancing a huge box of decorations in his arms.

He wouldn't be Richard Castle if he didn't have a little Christmas magic stocked away.

* * *

He watches her wake up the next morning. The curtains are still shut but the fairy lights around the tree are illuminating the room in a scintillating red, purple and green. The lights dance on her skin as she stretches a little, lashes fluttering open and eyes widening.

She looks to her right on impulse, finds him in his usual seat, grinning at her. And she smiles back because she doesn't really stand a chance whenever he looks at her like that.

"Castle what did you do?" she asks, a smile still gracing her lips.

He moves over to the curtains then and wraps his hands around their seams. "Ready?" he looks back at her and winks conspiratorially. She nods and so he pulls them apart and opens the room to a flood of light that uncovers last night's handiwork.

The entire room looks like part of a Christmas movie. There's a tree standing by the window, decorated over and over with red and green ornaments, lights and small angel figurines. There's tinsel and garlands hung across the walls and window sills and a small Christmas village set up on the cupboard in the corner. There's a jar full of cookies and gingerbread and various candles that are scented with cinnamon orange and fir.

She looks around slowly, eyes wide and lips parted in wonder as she takes in every little detail. When she finally turns back to him standing by the window her hand comes up to cover her mouth, the smile still peeking through her fingers.

"Merry Christmas, Kate."

She shakes her head a little, a few silent tears pricking at her eyes and threatening to spill over.

He sits down by her side again, takes her free hand and covers it with his own. She squeezes his fingers gently, unspoken gratitude laced into this small move.

"How did you do all this?" she whispers, quiet awe has taken over her voice as her eyes wander around the festive room again.

"Well I did have help from most of your nurses," he explains before adding, "except for Agatha, because she apparently loves rules and hates Christmas and happiness." He purses his lips in disdain and she laughs this kind of startled, involuntary, huffing out loud laugh that he loves, and squeezes his hand again.

"Thank you, Castle. For all this." Her eyes meet his and he sees the small tear that leaks and carves a rivulet into the soft skin of her cheek and all he can do is nod.

He reaches down into his bag then and produces a thermos bottle. "They even allowed me to bring you coffee." He reaches down again for the two mugs he brought as well. "I mean, it's decaf," he rushes to explain, " I know you're not a fan but-"

She interrupts him before he can ramble off into nothingness. "It's perfect, Castle." And a second later, "I really love it."

* * *

She tried to argue with him at first when he promised to come visit on the 24th.

"What about your family dinner?"

"It's dinner. We have all day before it even starts."

She hadn't been able to shake his decision to split the 24th between the hospital and his dinner and quite frankly he is almost insulted that she thought she could.

Between him coming by and her father in the evening they'll have a couple hours to themselves and he's excited to see her as he wraps a thick scarf around his neck and leaves his building after breakfast.

* * *

They talk about the meaning of Christmas and ice skating and he makes her promise to show him her neon colored ice skates once she is out of the hospital.

Then she finally gets him to concede and watch _Love Actually_ with her on the television. He makes deprecating comments about rom coms and how they are never realistic every five minutes but whenever she secretly glances over at him, she finds him either voicing along to the dialogue or watching in awe. And every time she has to cover her lips with her hand or blanket to hide her smile.

It's 3pm when her phone vibrates with an incoming text. It's from an unknown number reading, "Merry Christmas, Detective Beckett. Starting to report now."

"What the hell?" she mumbles, fingers hovering over the display, their movements caught by her lack of knowledge of what to reply to the cryptic message.

"It's my Christmas present to you," Castle says then, having watched the scene in amusement.

She turns to look at him again, eyebrows furrowed askance.

"You told me it's your tradition to keep watch on Christmas, and I know that this year you can't do that because you're confined to this place. So I asked around who was covering the shift over the holidays and Detective Wallace agreed to keep you updated on any cases and whatever else they'll come across on the following days."

He's still nervous about his present if he's being honest and when he looks at her, her eyes are glazing over and he's not sure how to read that.

"I mean I know it's not a real present and all but-"

"It's perfect." She cuts in. Her voice is a little hoarse and a slow smile starts to curve her lips upwards until it lights the room. "Thank you, Castle." Her voice is barely above a whisper. It's this gentle voice she reserves for moments like this when she needs him to know the full weight of her words. The voice she reserves for gentle things.

"You're welcome," he beams back at her but keeps his voice equally as quiet, as full of meaning.

"I got you something too." She places her phone back on the nightstand and reaches for the drawer underneath from where she extracts a small gift, wrapped in red and green paper and tied up with a little red bow.

She hands it over to him, smile still ghosting along her face but eyes slightly guarded. She's nervous, he realizes. And it warms him somewhere deep inside his chest to know that tough-as-nails Kate Beckett worries about him not liking her present, when in reality she could give him a bag of potato chips and it would be the greatest gift in the world.

He takes his time unwrapping the present, takes time to remove every slip of tape she used to stick the paper together. He's usually more of a tear-open kind of guy but with this, it feels important to take time.

When he finally pulls the paper away, he uncovers a little statuette, carved from blue stone. It's a finely cut pencil, with filigree ornaments around the stem and a writing feather that's set into stone so it will keep upright. It's absolutely beautiful and he looks up at her in awe to voice is gratitude.

"It's so beautiful."

Her fingers come together in her lap, fidgeting around each other, nails pinching at skin. There's a flutter of a smile on her lips when she looks at him again and says, "It's a promise."

He tilts his head slightly, eyes never once letting go of hers.

"It's the first stone," she continues to explain. "You know that wall I was telling you about…"

And of course he remembers. It had been one of their first conversations when he started visiting.

"It'll come down and," she hesitates for a second before she adds her last words. "And I'd like you to be there when it does."

For a second her words take his breath away and all he can do is gaze at the little stone statuette and trace out every single line carved into it like it's braille and spelling out the promise she has just breathed into the air.

"I will," he manages to get out then.

"I'll just need a little longer, Castle," she covers his hand with hers, laces her fingers with his.

"It's okay. However long you need. I'll be glad for every stone and every pebble," he says and squeezes her hand to punctuate his words. "Merry Christmas," he says then because it's all that is left to say.

And he thinks that Christmas truly is a time for wonder.

* * *

AN: I wish all of you beautiful people a merry Christmas and the happiest of New Years. May your 2016 be as beautiful as Kate Beckett's hair and may your Christmas be full of love and food and anything else you may wish for.

I hope you enjoyed this little story :)

Tumblr: dancingontiptoes

Twitter: concreteskies


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